Eggshell Minds
by Lor-tan
Summary: Second chances are stranger then anyone ever realized, Voldemort found when he met a strange creature after his death at the Final Battle. Especially when she just goes ahead and erases all his memories, sends him back in time to when he was a baby, and becomes the unofficial mother he never had. Fate's a bitch.


I've become one of those people who writes mostly Harry Potter fanfics, apparently. Oh well. Enjoy this terrible thing, my children!

Love, Lor.

* * *

After the final battle and his ultimate death, Voldemort had expected hell to greet him.

Instead, there was what looked like a picnic ground, with green grass, tables and benches, and the laughter of unseen children lingering in the air.

And something else, something staring at him with yellow eyes similar to a snake, and purring like an extraordinarily loud cat.

"Tom." It greeted simply. It was hovering in midair, its thin, scaled arms and furred, cat-like legs brought in close to its naked body as it floated, like a ghost in front of him. The furry feline ears tilted towards him and its fins and serpentine tail weaved through the air beneath it.

Voldemort swallowed. He hated the name Tom. It was so _ordinary_. But he couldn't quite bring himself to care about that, now that he was dead, and there was something he'd never seen before right in front of him.

"Who are you?" He asked, and it ceased it's purring, and tilted its head, wiggling its ears.

"Hmmmmm..." It hummed, tapping a cheek with a finger and looking thoughtful. "I suppose... Crease?"

Voldemort's mind was instantly racing, trying to come up with any information on the word Crease that fit the creature in font of him.

He came up completely blank.

"Not really, though." The thing continued, looking around at their surroundings. "Just... a second chance of another kind, I suppose. Don't worry, though. I'll be there for you. And you'll remember everything eventually. Probably..."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed as the creature touched down on the ground and smirked at him. Its eyes were as bright as its ears, which he was pretty sure were glowing somehow. It reached up an arm with glittering scales in-bedded in the smooth skin, and snapped webbed fingers, eyes still glowing and mouth still smirking. And then... bright light.

* * *

When he first began to register his surroundings, everything was blurred and messy, and absolutely blinding with something that he didn't know. Sounds registered in his ears, but he couldn't decipher them, all he could understand was the fact that there was sound at all.

Then he felt realized that something was touching him, running up and down his delicate flesh and suddenly the feelings stopped, and he heard more sounds. The sounds were soothing, and he didn't bother fighting off the feeling that came over him, making him close his sensitive eyes and block out all the sounds until he wasn't really existing anymore.

Above him, the creature grinned, and cooed at him, running her webbed and spidery fingers along his newborn skin once more. "Oh, baby, are you sleepy?" She murmured, before tugging the crochet blanket up further before casting a quick look around. Across the room, the thing could see as the woman at the orphanage tried to save the baby's mother, but she knew it was hopeless. The woman's fate was sealed, and had been for a long time.

There were sins in her family, perhaps not all her own, but sins nonetheless, and she was hardly innocent. No second chances for her, she would simply waste them.

The creature's only concern was the woman's son. The creature looked back to the boy, and began to purr, bending down to nuzzle her nose to his soft little cheek.

"Welcome to a new world, Tom Marvolo Riddle, my little dear, not that you know it" She trilled.

* * *

One year old Tom Riddle looked blankly out of his cradle, staring around with his browning eyes like he was searching for something. Soon those eyes would be fully developed and lose the last trace of that baby blue, but for now they stubbornly held on to the color, just barely adopting a reddish brown hue that made the woman who took care of the babies at Wool's Orphanage marvel at the strange color.

And stranger still, she marveled at the way he was always taken care of and healthy, even when she could not remember feeding or changing him, and the way he was always grabbing at thin air and then blabbering happily as he pulled the nothingness closer, clutching it in his tiny little hands like it was something.

Even now, Martha, the single woman in charge of the orphanage's nursery, watched as he cooed happily and waved his baby fatty arms clumsily in the air, blinking intently at the door. She looked over to check, but there was nothing there, and she felt a bit of pity rush up her spine for this child who seemingly not tell what was there and what wasn't. It was such a pity, too; he was so handsome for a toddler, and really, so smart for a baby in the way he recognized and rationalized things already. She'd tested him for blindness, or maybe being deaf, but he reacted to both sight and sound just as he should have, reaching out for hands she offered or flinching away from loud sounds she made.

Little Tom Riddle was simply perfect, aside from one thing; he couldn't seem to separate what was real and what was not.

* * *

Two year old Tom Riddle stood against the bars of his crib, unsteady on his feet but nonetheless reaching out his little hands desperately as the food bringer came closer. She gently wrapped her long fingers around his back and let him fall back and sit onto his blankets, before giving him the little bottle of water and leaning over him, legs he knew were soft and warm kicking at the air behind it and the long thing and rippling things swishing about.

It was making a sound, a constant rumble, as he drank, wide and now russet red eyes focused on it with his full attention. After he had drank his fill he dropped the bottle and reached out, making pleading noises, and she stopped rumbling long enough to move her head around, making sure the scary sound maker was gone, before leaning in and wrapping her cool smooth arms around him, and bringing him to her warm soft front. She started making sounds again, this one a soft clicking, and ran fingers along his face.

She made a different sound, talking, and his eyes narrowed again as he struggled to comprehend.

"Tom, little Tom." She crooned. "With the smart mind and handsome face. And they think you're insane for seeing me. Silly humans. Darling, humans are silly." She announced to him, and he bounced his head at her.

Humans _were_ silly. Humans, he knew, were everyone but the food bringer. And he didn't like those other then the food bringer as much, himself excluded of course. He was _wonderful,_ he was sure. But the other humans made loud noises and prodded at him, and muttered things about him like he couldn't understand them. He usually couldn't, because they used words that were too big, but that didn't matter, he was able to understand that they were talking about him without ever asking him. But the food bringer was different, because she looked different, and never poked or prodded, only held and cared for him. Only, what was the food bringer, if not human? He didn't have a word for her. He tried to explain this to her, and ask her what she was, but she didn't understand, and only held him tighter, starting to make the rumbling noise again.

"Silly little humans. You are far from insane, little Tom. You're absolutely genius, and oh so precious for it, aren't you, baby? Oh yes. Yes yes yes. So precious."

* * *

Three year old Tom Riddle was only to be in his crib for one more year, as he was almost big enough to have a bed of his own. Maybe with one of the older children, the food bringer said. Tom could understand that there were other children, now. And he could understand that Tom meant himself. And that the food bringer wasn't seen by others.

That confused him. Why couldn't other humans see the food bringer? She was right in front of them often, leaning over him. And when they were gone, she took care of him, and they never noticed.

The other humans, he decided, were even sillier then he'd thought, and therefore not worth his attention. He'd just have to give it all to the food bringer.

"Tom." The food bringer said, making him open his eyes, and he looked up to see her above him, spread out on nothing. That was something funny about the food bringer that Tom could not understand. Tom could never stand on nothing like she could, could never stay in the air he breathed without touching something to keep him up. He concluded that only the food bringer was able to do this, and reached out his arms from where he lay, begging to be held. She looked around, eyes landing on the scary sound maker, a human like himself, and moving away from his reaching arms. He looked too, and saw that the scary sound maker was watching, a funny look on her human face.

He wished she wasn't there, so that the food bringer could hold him. He wished really hard, that one of the other children would need attending to, or that something far away from his crib would break. He wished so hard, scrunching up his face and envisioning the exact sound the breaking would make, and the way that the food bringer would scoop him of in her cool, soft arms once the human was gone.

There was a smash, and the scary sound maker rushed away, leaving a smiling Tom and a surprised looking food bringer who quickly scooped him up just as he had imagined it, holding him to her breasts and suddenly beaming.

"Tom, darling. There you go. Magic." She trilled in his ear, and he felt her tail brush back his hair as she used her hands to hold him extra close. "Mad and magical little Tom."

* * *

Four year old Tom Riddle now had his own bed, and an older child who was in the room with him, using another bed. The bed was harder then his crib, but bigger, and fit his growing body better then the crib, which had been getting cramped over the years. The room was big and near empty, with just beds, a single desk, and wardrobes against each wall.

Tom spent a lot of time sitting alone on his bed, working through the hardest of the orphanage puzzles or using the paper and pencils to make detailed scribbles of the food bringer, as he was doing now.

"Aw, another of me, sweet." A familiar voice cooed, and he looked up to see the food bringer, who clicked at him as she came in. "So good, too, little Tom." She trilled as she sat down next to him, wrinkling him previously perfect sheets. He glared at the wrinkles, and she made the short bursting sound in the back of her throat that meant laughter.

"You messed it." He muttered as he dropped the pencil and reached out to run his hand over the sheets, smoothing them somewhat, and she floated up, sitting in the air with her cat like legs bent in front of her and her arms dangling to the sides, her strong tail trailing the ground beneath her.

"Oh, Tom. Such a picky little sweetheart, aren't you?" She asked, and he slowly smoothed the last of the wrinkles away.

"Am not." He argued, feeling annoyance curl into existence in his belly, and she giggled.

"Are too, Tom."

"Am not!"

"Then why will you not you eat tomatoes?"

"'cause they're yucky!" The food bringer laughed again, and Tom scowled. He hated being laughed at. "Hold me and I'll forgive you!" He demanded, stretching out his arms, and she cocked her head curiously before cooing. She floated closer to put her hands under his arms and pulled him onto her lap, so that he was settled with his back to her chest and his legs between hers.

"That's right, little boss, little Tom, they are yucky." She crooned in agreement, and began to purr as he fidgeted to get comfortable.

"I want a book." He told her, and she quickly reached to grab the unfinished fairy tale storybook from under his pillow, handing it to him and then looking over his shoulder as he began to read Hansel and Gretel.

"Oh, see, Tom, how clever children can be? If only they could realize that the witch was never the bad one, that there's no such thing as justice, then they could be adults. Do you want to be an adult, Tom?" Tom nodded up at her, russet eyes wide. Adults had all the power, he reasoned himself. He wanted to be powerful. "Don't. If you're never a child, you'll not have anything to laugh or cry over when you're older. Keep believing in justice, it's much less confusing."

* * *

Five year old Tom Riddle stared from under the trees at the little brown rabbit the other boy, Billy, clutched to his stomach. Beside him, the food bringer floated, tail wrapped around her paws and and fins brushing his side. A weird feeling tangled in his belly, making a happy grin spread on his face.

He instantly recognized it as smugness.

There was that silly boy, so happy about a mere rabbit, thinking he had it all, thinking that a simple rodent was anything special. It was ridiculous. Especially when he had the food bringer. That silly little rabbit could hold no candle to the food bringer, with her soft fur and cool scales and silky skin. It's little white puff of a tail was no match for the food bringers long muscled snake tail, and many easy to rip fins. Its long velvety ears were no comparison to her feline ones that lit up when she was happy, or her long dark brown spikes of hair, or her curling horns. Its quiet sniffles were nothing special against the food bringers wide range of words, clicks, trills, hums, croons, hisses and growls.

And its name, Bella, was simple compared to... the food bringer, Tom realized, had no name.

Well, that wouldn't do. He'd have to name her. and it had to be something special, that was for sure. Something just as strange as the food bringer herself was. She needed to be named after something nice. Maybe... love. That was something humans were obsessed with as he was obsessed with the food bringer, right? Finding love? It was all some of the older children talked about. Someone to take care of and be taken care of by, to cling to and adore. And here he already had it, in the form of the food bringer. He considered naming her Amy, or Amanda, but there were girls in the orphanage by those names, and the food bringer deserved something really special.

"Amata." He whispered, and the food bringer clicked her tongue fondly.

"What are you on about now, little Tom?" She cooed to him, running her long, spidery fingers along the shoulder. The webbing between them gained a sheen as the light of the sun filtered through the leaves and bounced off it.

"That's your name. Amata. _And you're so much better then any rabbit._ " He hissed to her. The sound coming out of his mouth felt strange to him, but still natural, and the smooth sound rolled off his tongue easier then any human word ever had. She jolted back, as though stung, before a strange smile crossed her handsome face. He'd never really thought of her face. He eyes were big and round like a snake's, with scaled lids and slit pupils, and her nose long, and her cheeks smooth. She must be pretty, he decided.

"Oh? Is that so? Well, little Tom," She finally cooed, leaning back over him, her pretty face lit up by her happily glowing ears. "little snake speaker. Thank you."

He smirked back at her. "Of course, anything for you, Amata. And any mere rabbits, they don't even deserve to be in your presence, do they?" He asked. She shook her head hard, making her brown hair shake and her face blur.

"No. No, sweet, they don't." She cooed, looking absolutely enthralled.

The next day, the rabbit was found hanging from the attic rafters, and for the first time ever Tom got to see the food bringer cry, big fat tears of heartbreak. She complained that she was supposed to be here preventing such things from happening, not causing them, and that she was failing her purpose to Crease. Yet, Tom was too distracted by her streaked, reddened face and beautiful wet eyes to pay much attention to what she was saying. So he just told her that she was incapable of failing, anyways, and that it was just a mere rabbit, anyhow, and that she could never be considered a failure. And she clicked and crooned at him, and hugged him, and wet his shirt with her salty tears as she accepted what he said.

* * *

Six year old Tom Riddle had no friends, the new girl at the orphanage, Emma noticed, and that made him just like her. Tom didn't seem like the kind who would approach you, more like the kind who needed to be approached himself, and none of the other children bothered, not at school, nor at the orphanage. They all just told her when she asked that Tom was strange, and of the terrible things that happened when he was upset, and that he talked to himself.

Of course he talks to himself, she thought. He has no friends to talk to, otherwise. Even the teachers at school didn't often call on him, because Tom hardly even talked, unless to himself, when she'd hear him happily discussing whatever possible. It was like the boy was some secret, and would only be told if you put in the effort of asking. So, Emma decided quite firmly to befriend Tom Riddle, even if he _was_ strange.

It wasn't as if she wasn't. She was without memory of her life before the orphanage, and too big for her age, as if someone had tried forcing her to grow up, a big little mystery to those who found her.

She started by just saying hello to the younger boy in the halls, and he always seemed surprised by it, like no one ever greeted him, but then he'd recover and nod back and hurry away. And Emma would feel something brush against her arm, something that felt like fish fins when you swam under water, and she could almost swear that she heard a cat purring.

"Hello?" She'called, and instantly it would stopped, replaced by a silence that seemed about to explode at any moment.

And, once, Emma could almost swear that she heard someone down the empty hall hiss "How _fascinating_."

Then she decided to try sitting next to him at mealtimes, sometimes. There was nobody else there, after all, and the first time she did it everyone else began to whisper like something terrible was going to happen, but Tom just stared at her, a mixture of understanding, rage, and confusion whirling in his rusty reddish eyes. Then he'd simply nodded, and mumbled hello, before going back to eating. And once again she'd felt that soft brushing against her shoulder, and the whispery croon followed by purring. Only, this time, she noticed that someone else noticed it too. Tom was staring at her, or rather just behind her, wide eyed. She whipped her head around, but saw nothing. She turned back when she heard Tom sigh rather resignedly.

"Emma, was it?" He asked quietly, and Emma beamed.

"Yep! Nice to finally hear your voice, Tom!" She said, and heard several gasps and whispers about her no doubt looming doom.

"Yeah, whatever. Just eat."

She heard a strange bursting sound, similar to someone laughing with their mouth closed.

* * *

Seven year old Tom Riddle looked up with a rather annoyed look on his face as his name was repeatedly called by a familiar voice, and indeed, beheld the sight of an thickset older girl with round framed glasses and fashionable short hair running towards him in a green dress, a wide smile on her eternally flushed face.

"Tom!" She shouted again and a few moment later reached him where he sat reading in his usual spot under the trees. "Tom! You'll never guess what I just saw!" She gasped out, her chest heaving.

"Oh? And what did you see, Emma?" He asked, and carefully set his book to the side as he tried to look as interested as possible. Whatever Emma had seen would no doubt be boring to Tom, but nonetheless, he did try to talk to her and keep her happy, seeing as how much Amata seemed to like her.

Emma eyed his book for a moment, before breaking out in a grin. "I know where we're going for the summer!" She told him, practically bouncing. Internally Tom grimaced that she would find such a small piece of information exciting.

Every other year they could scrap together the funding, the orphanage would go on a trip. The last time, when he was five, they had gone to a farm, which Tom had found fairly boring other then Amata's fascination with the animals. She'd ran and played with them, and danced each night in the field, unseen by all bit Tom. And the year before that, he had been too young to be taken, staying instead at the nursery with Martha and the food bringer.

"Mm. And where is it, then?" He asked, looking back to his book and letting his yearning to continue reading stay plain on his face, not bothering to hide how much this conversation bored him.

Emma huffed at him, disappointed that her discovery of this unknown-to-her event elicited such a dull response from him, the sound startlingly similar to how a certain food bringer sounded when she was annoyed. Actually, where was Amata, he wondered. Usually she was never out of his sight. How had she managed to sneak away?

"A beach!" Emma declared, distracting him from his thoughts of misplaced mismatched mother figures. Or sister figures. Whatever Amata was to him.

Future wife, maybe? Tom filed the thought away for future consideration.

"Really? Well, I suppose that will be better then last year." Tom admitted. He'd used to think that going to a beach would be fun, because he was sure that Amata would be a great swimmer, with her fins and tail and webbed fingers. Emma nodded in confirmation, and he gave her one of his smiles, that were rarely given to others then Amata. The girl practically beamed, and plopped down next to him, her green skirts arranged carefully and her face tinted green by the green sunlight under the leaves of the tree.

"Yep! We'll get to play in the water, and make sand castles, and you and I can explore!" She chattered, continuing on and ticking off every single thing they would do on this trip on her fingers. "We can look for a cave, hunt for shells, meet new people, and I can teach you how to dive, if you want!"

"She seems excited, doesn't she, sweetness?" The croon made Tom jerk his head away from Emma towards the approaching form of Amata.

" _Where were you?_ " He hissed, looking back to Emma as she continued to count off activities, apparently ignorant of the food bringers appearance or his distraction.

" _Oh, little Tom, darling, were you worried?_ " Amata hissed back, drifting closer and then dropping down to crouch beside Emma, running her fins along the other girls arm fondly. "Oh, Emma, Emma, eyes like henna, such a dilemma." She chanted, and Tom rolled his eyes. That was what she always said about Emma, but he had yet to find anything even slightly puzzling about the other girl. She was almost identical to any of the other children, other then her willingness to approach him and her slightly better looks. She was nice, yes, but simple and predictable. Not a single dilemma at all.

Days later, finally at the beach, Tom found two other children, Amy and Dennis, bullying Emma for spending time with him. Apparently, her spending time with him made her as much as a "freak" as it he was. And that, combined with some jabs about her size, filled him with more anger then he could have ever expected. He didn't think he really liked Emma that much. She was better then the other children, but that was it. He had no reason to like her. They were totally different. Yet she qualified as something of his, and they had no right to speak to her like that, especially while Emma was proudly and loyally standing her ground, refusing to relent and stop talking to him like the other two wanted. Beside him, Amata was snarling, furious that someone she liked was being treated in such a way. So, by the time Amy and Dennis had gotten away, they'd been terrified out of their lives by the invisible force that had repeatedly shoved them to the ground and experiencing phantom pains from the invisible torture that Tom had inflicted on them with his magic.

Emma was left speechless for only a few moments, fear on her face, before she suddenly smiled. And it looked so out of place for her to be smiling after such an event, that Tom almost thought she must be insane.

"It's real." Emma proclaimed. "The thing is real. I'm not hearing things."

"What thing?" Tom asked, scowling after the two still retreating forms before turning to face the blond girl.

"The growls! Didn't you hear them, Tom? And didn't you see how they were being pushed around, and in such pain? Didn't you? Oh, tell me you did, Tom, please tell me you did. I so don't want to be mad for hearing things, and feeling things. Didn't you hear the growling?"

Tom was so stunned he barely managed to speak, and far back in a corner of his mind he registered Amata cackling. "You- you can hear her?"

"Her? Oh, Tom, can you sense it too? The way it's always crooning and hissing, and chanting weird rhymes about me?" Emma asked, taking a step forward and leaning down to look into Tom's reddish eyes. She was so tall, it baffled Tom how a girl could be so big. Emma was taller and thicker then any of the boys her age, but still skinny in a way that said she was never fed enough. "It's always cooing over you and calling you pet names, and it says I have eyes like henna. And it brushes against me sometimes, and feels really soft, like when you're swimming and you feel a fish's tail. Oh, please, Tom, tell me you know what I'm talking about! I've been hiding it so long! I don't want to be insane!" She pleaded.

Tom swallowed, and shoved all the fuzz in his mind to the side as he reorganized it, searching through his brain for a suitable response. "Her name is Amata, not "it" and of course I can see her. She's right there."

"Huh?" Emma whipped around and searched along the nearby stretch of sand he was pointing to, an almost desperate gleam in her mossy eyes. "Tom! Oh, I'm not joking! Do you see her or not!" She snapped, turning back and glaring at him, and his mind once more exploded, all his previous work organizing it pushed aside as he tried to solve this new puzzle. Could she not see Amata? But then, how could she hear her? Or feel her?

Behind Emma, Amata chuckled, instantly attracting the unseeing attention of the girl. "I told you she was a dilemma, little Tom."

So from then on, Tom really did like Emma. After all, they finally had something in common.

And maybe not all humans were completely silly, either.

* * *

Eight year old Tom Riddle was now officially off bounds to all but a certain blond girl named Emma. He hardly talked to anyone else, or talked at all for that matter. Around strangers, he was mute. The boy who had shared his room had mysteriously decided to run away, leaving Tom with a near empty room of his own, because no one wanted to share with him anymore. No other child even dared to stand in his way, instead avoiding him whenever possible, and when given no choice but to tell him it was time for a meal, or some other bit of information, not daring to look up and meet those blank red eyes. Even the older children followed this behavior, because not only would they face whatever accident Riddle managed to cause with his freakish powers if they didn't, but also they would find themselves on the wrong side of Emma, who had over the years proved to be a rather formidable opponent.

Oh, she was better then Riddle; she had friends, and was fun to be with, assuming you were careful and didn't insult her or the younger boy. But she always found a way to get back if you angered her, and they were almost always sneaky backhanded ways that could rarely be proven, and were only evidenced by her glee when such things happened. The shredding of your school books, someone shoving you to the ground to be stepped on while in a crowd, your food giving you a stomach ache, something going missing from another orphans room and later being found in your possession with no memory of taking it. These were the things that came from Emma, not nearly as painful as what Tom would cause but terrible nonetheless. And if truly angered, she abandoned all signs of lady-likeness, and would use her bigger size to simply beat the other children. She, like Riddle, was neutral unless challenged, and then she was completely cruel.

So when someone saw the two talking, or Emma hugging the stiffened smaller boy, or one of them talking to only themselves, not a word was said, and they simply swerved around and tried to avoid any trouble. They accepted that the Riddle only barely tolerated their presence, and that though Emma may act as your friend, when it came to choosing, her ultimate loyalty was to Riddle, regardless of how much she liked you otherwise.

It was in this manner that an odd manner of ruling came about, with Riddle and Emma as the king and queen that few actually liked but all were afraid to cross, followed by those who Emma favored and those who proved useful to Riddle, then the neutrals, and last of all the rebels, who had a never ending stream of things going wrong in their lives.

And Amata watched this all play out with both concern and happiness, wondering if Emma was enough to change her little Tom, or if he was simply doomed to turn out the same as last time, but still overwhelmingly happy every time he would look up at her with his red-brown eyes, and ignore his growing size in order to ask for her to hold him. Because she was certain that the previous Tom Riddle had never looked that cute.

* * *

Nine year old Tom Riddle walked carefully down the street, avoiding contact with other, older street goers with practiced ease. Behind him skipped Amata, feeling gleeful in this rare occasion of touching her paws to the ground. She was chattering about meaningless things to Tom as she went, the crow haired boy listening with only half an ear and mainly focusing on what was happening around him. All around people were talking of rumors and bit of news, some meaningless and unimportant but others the exact opposite. Some laws, some changes; anything that could effect the orphanage.

This, of course, all flew out of his mind as he heard someone shout and Amata let out a shriek of dismay before taking to the air and rushing past him, her serpentine tail whipping through the air and her fins and hair streaming out behind her. Almost as if an afterthought she suddenly slowed and turned back, just in time to snatch Tom and drag him into a nearby alley before the shouting reached them. Funny enough, none of the other humans around seemed to notice any of this, instead continuing on with their bustling and inane chatter as if they could neither hear not see anything out of the ordinary, even as they were shoved out of the way. They just kept going like nothign had happened.

But Tom saw. He saw several men and woman in red and gold cloaks rush past, long, thin sticks in their hands as they continued to yell to one another, saying to spread out and send up flares once "the creature" was spotted again.

"Well, little Tom." Amata crooned in Tom's ear, removing her hand from across his face where she had placed it to keep him from crying out. He immediately grabbed it and put it right back, but she just made the bursting sound of laughter and removed it again. "I'd say that's a crisis averted. For now. Uh, maybe, little snake, I should start staying a bit more hidden?"

"Who were those people?" Tom asked, and she clicked.

"Aurors."

"What- how could they see you?"

"...I'm sensing this is a conversation best carried on in privacy at the orphanage, babe. Whaddaya say we head back, sweetheart?" She purred, and Tom reluctantly nodded.

Of course, neither of them remembered that Emma had been out gathering information as well. The now teenage girl heard the shouting, but seeing no one there, her curiosity was peaked. So she followed it until she felt something brush against her outstretched hands, and instantly clutched at the rough fabric, easily stopping whoever wore it from moving, and making them growl and try to tug away.

Emma, though, wasn't about to let go that easily. And she was strong, stronger then all the other children in the orphanage, boys included. "Amata, what are you doing wearing clothes? You never wear clothes!" She exclaimed, tugging insistently at the fabric. She was quite surprised when, instead of a familiar croon singing rhymes about her name, someone male ordered her to let go. Emma's eyes narrowed. "Who are you?" She snapped, thinking of the knife stored in her skirts, a rare gift given from Tom for her thirteenth birthday the year before.

"Same to you! Let go!" The male snarled, and in response Emma just held on tighter with both hands to the straining fabric.

"You're not Amata. So why can't I see you?" Emma asked, glaring at the spot where the voice was coming from, and there was a pause.

"Who's Amata, and why can't you see her?" The man asked then, the curious and ordering tone of his voice setting off warning bells in Emma's head. She instantly released the cloth, and backed away, a hand going to the knife as she turned to dart away. She needed to get away and tell Tom about these strange things that were happening. Tom always knew what to do, after all. He was the leader.

"No matter to concern yourself with." She announced, starting off before there appeared a hand over her mouth and her head was yanked forcefully back. She grabbed for the knife, but that arm was quickly twisted behind her back before she could reach under the layers of skirt, and she was dragged, kicking and screaming muffled screams, into an alley, with no one the wiser because they could not longer see her. Emma was strong, but this man, whoever he was, was stronger.

And it terrified her, when more voices joined the first, and something burning was poured into her forced open mouth, and she started answering questions that she did not mean to answer.

"We live at Wool's Orphanage."

Further away, Tom sat in Amata's lap, and listened to her explain the wizarding world, or at least what she understood of it. He was at first thrilled when he heard that there were others like him, but then horrified when he heard that his mother had been one before she died, leaving him. Finally he reached rage, as when he realized that they were after Amata.

"Why are they after you?" He demanded, and she hissed in a comforting manner.

"Oh, what a lovely question, Little Tom, sweetness. Honestly, it just started a few days ago. Apparently, they finally noticed how many Aurors were coming back from this area with missing memories, and thought they should look into it a bit more. You humans do have such a sense of curiosity, don't you?" She crooned, trailing cold fingers through his hair, and he twisted his neck to see her. Her yellow eyes shined with amused annoyance, and her ears were twitching.

"Why were they missing memories?"

"Ah. Well I _may_ have had a hand in that."

"Why?" Tom insisted, and she trilled.

"Well, little snake, they have an annoying habit of trying to find me and take me from you, darling. Apparently they saw me hovering over you one day and thought I must be some sort of bad influence on "poor muggles like that little boy," and therefore must be removed immediately. They're so protective of their sheep."

Tom's eyes widened. "What? How dare they!" He snarled. The thought of anyone taking Amata, _his food bringer_ , enraged him further. So far he really wasn't happy with how the others who could see Amata were turning out.

"Mm, indeed, how dare they?" Amata mused, before shuddering violently, and holding him tighter, wrapping her furry legs around his own and her serpentine tail around his ankles. "No matter, though. I highly doubt they'll be able to find us here. We're perfectly safe, you, me, and Em- Little Tom, love, have you seen Emma?"

Tom's eyes widened and er froze for a moment, before beginning to struggle. Amata dropped him onto his bed immediately, and watched him concernedly.

"She's outside still!" He told her frantically. "We didn't get her!"

"Oh, dear. Thi-" Amata was cut off by the violent bang of the door being slammed open, and people pouring through, cramming themselves into the sparse room, which seemed suddenly smaller as more and more people came. Tom instantly recognized them, in their red and gold clothes and holding their long thin sticks towards Amata. Panic and fear filled him, _someone had intruded his space_ , and he reached for Amata, stretching his arms towards her like always before one of the women rushed forward and grabbed him, then dragged him back as the others started waving their sticks and muttering strange phrases. The woman was muttering about how sad it was, that a poor muggle had been caught up with such a no doubt dangerous creature, as she pulled him away.

Not that it mattered, seeing as how Amata knocked the woman into a wall with her tail moments later, snarling about touching him and abruptly reminding him of how strong Amata could be, compared to her usually gentle nature around Emma and him.

Truly, Tom thought, no rabbit could ever, ever compare to the sight of Amata as she was now, hissing and growling ferociously as she jumped on the Aurors, her tail of pure snake muscle moving through the air like a mace and her horns gathering blood as she rammed into people with her head, tearing them open. Her legs were a flurry of movement as she used the the claws of her hind legs to scratch at their faces, and her jaws snapped as she attempted to bite at their attackers. Her eyes and ears were alight and glowing as she concentrated on attempting to get to him, yowling for him to come to her.

Tom tried to go to her, and he had no doubt he could have if more men and women had not arrived, waving their sticks and chanting strange things that made Amata stiffen up and slow, whimpering with pain as suddenly all of her movements stopped and she collapsed. Tom shrieked at the sight and tried twice as hard to make it through the sea of bodies in his room, which had previously seemed so big but now so small, trying to get to her as Aurors moved to block him.

Finally an idea crossed his mind, an utterly crazy idea, but with the thought that it may help him get closer he pushed all rational thinking aside and screamed the single word. "Mother!" He wailed, and it was like all movement in the room froze, making it much easier for him to push past the bodies in ran and gold to get to Amata. He threw himself to her and tore at what was left of her fins, only feeling guilty for a moment before he was able to roll her form, which used to seem so strong and unbeatable, over and get a look at her face. And then he screamed again.

Amata's face was bloody, her entire body was bloody now that he looked more closely, and her breaths were big and hard, like she was battling all over again to get the air into her lungs. She was whining in distress as she looked somewhere to the right of his head, seemingly unable to see him because her beautiful golden eyes were so damaged and hidden behind gushing blood, and the whines were broken, stuttering on and off. Cuts littered her, tearing at her legs and bare chest, matting the fur of her legs and chipping the scales on her arms. One of her horns was broken clean off, a big head wound leaking blood just beneath her ear where the skin had been torn away and the curling bone was pulled from her skull. He looked around frantically, and nearly fainted as he saw a chunk of her tail, a good two feet chopped cleanly off and laying by the feet of a man with black hair.

The Aurors were whispering among themselves now, frantic as they processed what he'd just called the "beast" and suddenly rethought their actions.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Emma being led into the room by another woman, who was looked around at the other silent Aurors with a look of confusion. Emma's cheeks were wet and ever redder then normal, and she was hiccuping, and the moment she saw the blood and heard Amata whining, she began sobbing, wailing in distress and begging him for forgiveness, telling him that she hadn't meant to tell them, but that it had hurt so much not to, that the drink they'd made her consume had burnt so much when she tried to lie, and that she had said the words before she could stop.

And Tom understood it all. It made him so angry, that these humans were only now thinking twice, after they had forced Emma to tell them something against her own will, after they had done this to his Amata, his food bringer. Tom felt something curling in his gut, a rage that utterly dwarfed what he had felt only minutes before, a deep, utter loathing for these people, a dam that would break any moment and eradicate all of these men and women in red and gold. These people who had ripped it all apart. All that he had known, had worked for, had hoped would be there in the future. He'd seen the three of them taking on the world, and utterly conquering it. He'd seen them happy and whole and laughing.

And now Amata was laying in a pool of her own blood, Emma seemed so traumatized she couldn't stop wailing about how the pain had burned, and Tom was angrier then he could ever remember.

"Why aren't you doing anything?" The woman who held Emma asked. "Why is the monster still alive? Why haven't you killed i-" She dropped, gurgling, as blood spurted from her throat and Tom laughed with glee that his attack had worked. He'd wanted nothing more then for the wretched woman to _stop_ , to _shut up_ , and not continue saying such things about his darling Amata, and his magic had made that want come true. This drove the other Aurors to finally move, some running to grab their fallen fellow and others pointing their sticks to Amata. Emma, now freed, rushed closer, and in return had a few of the sticks trained on her as well.

"Oh, Tom, Tom! I'm sorry!" The blond girl babbled, her hands searching until they connect with Amata's bloodied body, and another sob was ripped from her throat. "Oh! Amata! No!" She squealed, before she began to tear at her dress. It was a new one, Tom remembered out of nowhere as he continued to glare at the Aurors. Emma had gotten it just this year. It was simple, but made of precious, soft silk that was near the same shade of yellowish brown as her hair, and actually fit her, and she adored it. And here she was, tearing it into sloppy strips and throwing them willy-nilly over Amata, attempting to soak up blood from wounds she couldn't actually see. It made Tom smile, and several more Aurors fell, blood spilling from their necks as well.

Amata truly did have good taste in friends, he thought at he chanced another look at her still gasping form. The silk strips were barely doing any good as they continued to fall where there were no wounds, but the ones that landed correctly were soon soaked with blood, which made Emma gag as she tried to pull them off and replace them. He reached to adjust one, but never made it, as something seemed to hit the middle of his back and he instantly froze. Was this what they did to Amata, he wondered as he fell over. If so, she must have been so strong to have resisted it at all, he decided as he felt someone grab him around the middle and heard Emma begin yelling. He could barely move at all, but he managed to look up through his eyelashes to see two Aurors pulling his older friend away from Amata's body, and a few more grabbing her as well, cursing as the blood soaked through their bright clothing, the dark red, almost black, of Amata's blood a splotch of darkness against the bright red of their uniforms.

Serves them right, he mentally snarled, as the sight of them carrying her precious body made him renew his struggles against what held him still. But the most that he managed was a few twitches that left him exhausted, and eventually, everything faded to black.

When Tom finally awoke, he was curled up on what seemed to be some sort of cot, surrounded by stone and so many voices, some that made him want to scream as he recognized them from those who had harmed Amata, and others that were completely unfamiliar. However, he had a feeling that throwing a fit here wouldn't go too well, so instead he just closed his eyes again and pretended to still be asleep.

"I tell you, he called it his mother!" One of the familiar ones growled, and another unfamiliar voice scoffed.

"Impossible! This is an unfamiliar magical creature, yes, but the fact remains that there is no way it is his mother! Obviously it was just controlling him, making him think of it that way! We need to dispose of it quickly, obliviate him, and return him back to the other muggles."

Another voice interjected, this one gentle and feminine. "I fear that would be impossible, sir. You see, the boy is not actually a muggle; he is a muggle born. We believe the girl may be as well, or at the very least a squib." Gasps and scoffs filled the room, and several voices demanded why the calm voice could think such a thing. "Several of the Aurors who were there have said that some, such as Miss Bellamon and Mr. Delphi, died not from injuries sustained from the creature but from what seemed to be accidental magic. Add to that the fact that the two children seemed not only enchanted by the creature but also able to see it while no other muggles could, and we believe that they must be magical themselves." It explained, and in response even more questions were shouted out.

"Why don't you all just ask the boy himself?" A completely new voice interjected as the calm voice seemed to finally become flustered under the verbal fire. This one was rough and decidedly masculine, and creaky with old age. "He's awake now."

Tom stiffened.

"Is that true?" The calm voice asked. "Are you awake, dear?"

Tom couldn't move. Terror was washing over him as he realized that he wasn't sure where he was, and that there were more of them then him, and that Amata couldn't help him.

 _Amata._ Where was Amata? His food bringer? It was this question that finally caused him to move, to uncurl and sit up, looking around with wide red eyes. All around him were men and woman, all in clothes similar to the Aurors, but different colors, ranging from purple to black to sunny yellow to the clashing bright red and gold that marked Aurors. He was totally surrounded, and Amata was nowhere in sight.

A scream tried to bubble up in his throat but instead of escaping it knocked into a growing knot, being stifled until Tom was sure he couldn't make a single sound even if he wanted to. Not a peep.

"Well?" The rough voice continued, and Tom flinched. "Ask him, we don't have all day!"

It was a few moments before a younger man, one in the hated red and gold, stepped forward. "Who are you?" The man asked slowly, like he was speaking to a child, and even the knowledge that he technically _was_ a child didn't keep Tom from narrowing his eyes into rust colored slits and hissing in anger. Everyone in the room, except for an old man, drew back as if bitten at the sight of him glaring and hissing, such fury in his young eyes, which appeared even redder from his crying earlier. Tom imagined exactly what he wanted to happen to the man who had spoken. The same that had happened to Amy and Dennis, only much, much worse. Moments later the young man was on the floor and howling in agony, and others rushed forward to grab him as once again sticks were aimed at Tom. He was starting to get the feeling that the sticks may actually be for something.

"...If you're an Auror, get out!" The rough voice called out after a while, and it took a few moments of shuffling for all of the men and women in red and gold to get out, dragging the pained man with them, before Tom heard doors slam somewhere behind him and he relaxed, just a tiny bit. He turned to look at where the voice came from, and say an old scarred man sitting on some of the closer stone benches, wearing black robes and twirling his own stick in his fingers. They met eyes for a moment, curious beetle black and terrified rusty red, before the man broke the contact to call "All right! One person at a time! Queens, you go first!"

It was the calm voice that spoke now, having recovered from its earlier nervousness. "Young man, we would like to know your name." It asked gently, and Tom stared at the user. Indeed a female, with long black hair and tiny dot-like eyebrows, which raised at his appraisal. She was clothed in red cloth that lacked the gold trim of the Aurors, with a cursive letter Q embroidered in white at the corner of the low collar.

Tom didn't answer. The knot was still growing, choking off his entire vocabulary.

"Young man, please, could you tell us your name?"

He still didn't answer. He was sure he couldn't even if he wanted to, which he certainly didn't.

Finally the woman sighed in a rather resigned manner, and waved her stick. "Can you at least tell me what your relationship with this creature is?" She asked, pointing to somewhere behind him, and he strained his neck around before gasping and scrambling up. There, in what looked like a big glass box had appeared, positioned against the wall, and in it lay Amata on a table. The blood was cleaned up, leaving a few raw wounds visible, and there was a white shift clinging loosely to her unconscious form and covering most of the damage, making Tom frown at the unseen skin. He'd often imagined Amata in clothes, but he was sure she'd look best in something close fitting; the loose papery material of the shift hid her flawless hourglass form and her furry hindquarters from view in a way that felt even more inappropriate then her going bare.

Tom ran immediately to the box, ignoring the murmurs of surprise and disapproval, and placed both hands on the glass, leaning in close to look at Amata, studying every healing cut, ripped fin, and tangled spike of hair closely. Her face was still a mess of healing wounds, and Tom saw with a wince that some cuts went directly across her eyes, cutting through the eyeball and making healing impossible. He realized with a dread settling in his stomach that Amata would probably never see properly again. "My food bringer." He whispered longingly, and pressed his nose to the glass.

The whispering grew to a roar as people tried to decipher what he'd said, but Tom ignored it, focused entirely on Amata's still form.

White wasn't even her color.

* * *

Ten year old Tom Riddle watched sadly as Amata floated clumsily towards him, her old grace lost as she bumped her hands into obstacle after obstacle and avoided it, arms decorated with chipped scales held out in front of her as she attempted to maneuver the course. A soft dark green cloth was tied in front of her eyes, matching the one wrapped around her breasts, and Tom struggled with himself not to rush forward and yank it away so that he could again see the mass of damaged eye and scar tissue that had replaced Amata's previous beautiful yellow eyes. But removing the dark cloth would simply burn the fragile remains of her eyesight, and he wouldn't dream of hurting her.

Scars littered her body and what was visible of her face. One poked out from under the cloth and over her cheek and another went directly across the bridge of her nose. They dotted her arms and chest, the three biggest scars right under her breasts and over her stomach and stretching down along her entire left arm, where it continued into a big tear in her tattered fins. Her ears twitched and swiveled as she attempted to locate his breathing, one ear torn nearly off and the other missing the company of its old horn companion.

She stopped and whimpered, and beside Tom stood Emma, sniffling.

"She's crying. I can hear it." The blond girl moaned, tugging at the hems of her ill fitting dress. It was too small, and clung to her thickset body so tight that she could hardly move her arms. He knew she missed the yellow silk one. "Oh, Tom. She can't do it, can she? Oh, oh... How could they have done this, Tom? Why can't they fix her?"

Tom's jaw tightened, and he stared resolutely ahead, watching Amata with eyes like a hawk, ready to jump in the moment she needed help. She whimpered again before raising her face and sniffing at the air, twisting her head around until she found his scent, and starting to move again, sweeping what was left of her tail around her and feeling with her hands for anything in the way. After what seemed like forever she finally emerged from the obstacle course, hovering in the air a few feet away and reaching out towards their general direction, her face pointed somewhere past his shoulder.

"We're here." He told her, and she floated closer, until finally her searching hands closed around Emma's head, and she wrapped herself gleefully around the girl, cooing happily.

"I-I- goh-" Amata stammered, trying to speak. "I got yah, Emmm!" She finally managed, and Emma grinned at about where she was, still looking innately sad.

"Yes, yes you did, Amata!" She choked out, before giggling. "You should give Tom a hug too, Amata!" She told her, before feeling around for an arm and directing Amata towards where Tom waited before running from the room, tears in the corners of her mossy green eyes and tripping from her dress. For such a dangerous girl, Emma was such a crybaby now.

Amata trilled and launched forward, nearly missing him and instead crashing into his waist, making them both tumble down. Tom hurried to right them both, his gut twisting as he saw wetness seeping through the green cloth. It was a miracle that Amata's tear ducts had survived, and Tom found himself oddly thankful for it, because anything was better then nothing. Better to see his food bringers tears then nothing at all.

"I-I-I'm s-s'rry!" Amata wailed as he helped her upright, so that she was standing on the ground beside him and able to dig her webbed hands into his robe. And soon those spidery fingers turned to claws, ripping at his soft robes and angrily begging forgiveness, berating herself for her clumsiness, scolding herself for her so called uselessness. Saying she was once again failing her purpose to Crease.

Changing her mood like clouds change in the sky, like seasons, grey winter skies to raging spring storms.

After the Aurors had nearly killed her, Amata had gone into a sort of coma, sleeping it off for three months as all of her injuries healed, before remaining in it for another two months for unknown reasons. The Ministry of Magic had taken both Tom and Emma from the orphanage and placed them in the home of a young magical couple, the Marions, who had children of their own, hoping to sweep the whole deal under the carpet, and they had gone willingly with the promise that they would still be allowed to see Amata as soon as she woke. Tom hated it, but without Amata, there was no one to take care of Emma and he, and they needed taking care of. They needed _someone,_ it was simply what they were used to. They both continued to claim she was their mother, to the utter bafflement of everyone involved, except for an old scarred man who just smirked and winked at them before approving of the matter. So life had proceeded, Tom hardly uttering a word to their new caretakers and Emma acting bright and bubbly as she secretly slipped every drink she was given to the dogs, afraid of yet another burning drink. She only seemed to trust what Tom gave her, and Tom only spoke in her presence.

After the five months they'd been called and told that Amata had finally awaken, and they'd nearly fallen in their attempt to get to the floo as fast as possible. Amata had seemed so dismayed and disgusted with herself when they first saw her, unable to see and barely able to speak. She stumbled about and floated into things aimlessly, babbling apologies even when she hadn't done anything wrong. She just seemed so... broken.

But she was getting so much better, Tom reminded himself. She was getting used to the blindness and starting to learn and avoid what sounds she could no longer make. And so what if she was just a little bit more volatile, and her mind was a bit more childish? She was still his food bringer. She still stumbled clumsily toward him with snacks, still held him when he asked, still sang rhymes about Emma. She was just a bit... unbalanced, compared to before.

So he cooed to her, telling her that it was all okay, and that she had done nothing wrong. That she could never do anything wrong. She was just too perfect, even when she was flawed, to do anything wrong.

And she tried and failed to click and croon at him, and clung to him, and wet his tattered shirt with her salty tears as she tried to accept what he said.

And it took a while.

But eventually Amata regained some of her former glory. She developed her senses again, learned to get around again, learned to speak properly again, until it was only when she was nervous that the clumsiness and stammering returned. Tom grew used to the sight of her scars and her stump of a tail, and no longer felt the need to tear away the cloth that was over her eyes to again confirm that it was all real. Even Emma got over it, even if she still cried sometimes, even is she was sometimes just as moody as Amata now was.

 _They were finally okay again._

* * *

Eleven year old Tom Riddle looked down at the letter in his hands with a look of supreme blankness. It had arrived moments ago, interrupting dinner, where he, Emma, Amata and all of the Marions had been quite busy eating dessert until it arrived, and the moment the owl had swooped in movement from the wizarding family had ceased, while Emma continued to devour another piece of cake, always the hearty eater, while Amata just twitched her ears and looked towards Tom with concern on what was visible of her face. Her senses had been getting so much better...

"Little Tom?" She trilled, dropping what was left of her own cake to the dogs who lay under the table. They happily gobbled it up before creeping closer to Amata, rubbing against her fondly before heading back under the table. They were so fond of the three, even more then they were of the actual Marions, it was actually somewhat amusing.

"I got my Hogwarts letter." He explained, making the four Marions gasp; they were so unused to Tom talking.

Amata cocked her head, then grinned. "Oh, congrats, love!" She cooed. "Do you think they'll le' me come? An' Emmm?"

"They'd better." Tom answered solemnly. "Otherwise, I won't go. Five months without you was hard enough, a whole school year would simply result in innumerable deaths."

Amata giggled. Or tried to, at any measure. "Oh, Tom, little, little Tom. Darling. I would prob'ly do the same!"

* * *

Aaaaaand done! Any thoughts, any ideas? Should I continue? Should this simply be a oneshot? Please review what you think, any flames will be celebrated! Thank you so much for reading my most recent abomination to all that is holy, and byeeeeee!


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